Impressing Malik
by theUndertakerx
Summary: When the cats are away... another cat comes in and the mouse tries his best to not look like a tool. Altair/Ezio/Desmond with a little Malik in the middle.
1. Bye, Guys

Desmond was nervous. It could have been because he was going to be without Altair and Ezio for the next couple of weeks, it could have been because his assassin missions had been coming in fewer and fewer as the days went on. There was little legitimate work for him to do alongside his two lovers, and because of that, he had resorted to taking up bar tending again at a local joint where the only bar goers were bikers and ruffians.

Then again, his nerves could have been set on end because of their new house-sitter.

Due to Desmond's abnormal hours at work, Altair's and Ezio's absence, and the lack of trust the three assassins had for anyone outside of their order, the oldest of the three of them had called in an old friend to help watch the house while they were all away.

Malik Al-Sayf.

The name sent a shiver down his spine, and not in the good way, like Altair's did when Ezio muttered it in bed, though that detail spent little time occupying Desmond's mind once he heard the doorbell ring.

"Is that Malik?" Desmond heard Altair call from upstairs, most likely still getting ready for their undercover mission. "Let him in, Desmond, and be kind this time, please?"

Desmond frowned, standing from his place, sitting on the couch, and making his way over to the door as slow as possible. He remembered the first time that he had ever met Malik, outside of his memories in the animus, which were frightening enough.

The one armed assassin had been honest but short tempered, a combination that both frightened Desmond, and made him feel like he had to do everything in his power to live up to the man's expectations. Needless to say, he had been less than successful.

"Hello, Desmond." Malik greeted as kindly as he possibly could, smiling just a little bit at the younger man when the door opened. "Are those two idiots still here?" He asked, looking around when Desmond stepped aside to allow him in.

Desmond frowned, trying to think of a reply that was witty enough, but whatever he was thinking about saying would have fallen on deaf ears anyway, as the very same two idiots that Malik was referring to strutted down the stairs, clad in business suits and briefcases.

"I have to say," Ezio said to no one in particular while he checked himself out in the closest mirrored surface. "I do not mind this centuries' clothing. It flatters me, does it not?"

"Keep your eyes off of yourself and on your mission, Ezio." Desmond found himself muttering, much to the surprise of the other three men in the room. Usually it would have been Malik to make that comment, or something along similar lines, but Desmond desperately wanted to get this week over with, and if Ezio kept screwing around like that, then it would just take longer for them to get home.

Ezio looked up at Desmond, shocked, but quickly recovered, smirking slightly as he lowered himself into a condescending bow, never keeping his eyes off of Desmond. "Yes, Maestro." He growled out, in no mood for anyone to talk down to him.

The frown on Desmond's face deepened, then quickly turned apologetic. "I'm sorry Ezio I'm just..."

"Nervous?" The Italian asked, straightening up and smiling at his younger lover, equally apologetically. "I understand, just try to behave yourself, okay?"

The younger man nodded, then looked up to Altair. "A week?" He asked, feeling little relief when the older assassin nodded. "You promise?" He asked again, wanting confirmation for the millionth time.

"I don't know what you're so nervous about, Desmond." Altair said, placing his hands on Desmond's shoulders as comfortingly as possible. "But you'll be fine, I promise. Malik will be here when you're not and there will always be someone in the house with you, so it will not be terribly quiet with Ezio and I away." He leaned down to place a kiss on Desmond's cheek. "I promise, everything will be okay. We'll be home within a week, and if we are you have full privilege to throw as many knives at us as you can."

Desmond nodded, leaning up to peck Altair's lips in response to the kiss on his cheek. "Just hurry." He muttered, low enough so that Malik wouldn't hear him. He turned to Ezio afterwords, smiling at him softly. "Good luck, you two." He said to the two of them, placing a kiss on Ezio's cheek. "And come back safe, this time, please? I don't want to have to wrap anymore bandages around either of you."

"We will, we will!" Ezio grinned at him as the two older assassins left the house out of the front door, leaving Malik and Desmond standing there awkwardly.

When the tension became too much to bear, Desmond smiled apologetically at Malik. "I'll show you where your room is..." He muttered, leading the older man up the steps and down the second floor hall to the guest bedroom.

Behind him, Malik followed, his footsteps were light, so much so that Desmond could barely make out how close behind him the other man was. Altair had said that it would never be too terribly quiet with someone else in the house. Had he forgotten that Malik was next to silent compared to himself and Ezio?

"Here it is..." Desmond muttered, opening the guest room door. "Just... make yourself at home." He shrugged, allowing Malik to step forward and into the room.

"What you said to Ezio, earlier," Malik said, turning to face Desmond once he was in the room. "Good job, not many people can stand up to him or Altair like that."

Desmond forced back a blush and nodded his thanks. "Uh... thanks, I guess..." He shrugged. He wasn't 'many people' after all. When Malik closed the door and Desmond was down the hall and in the kitchen, he couldn't help but grin.

He'd managed to finally impress Malik, and – for some reason – that made him feel a little bit accomplished inside.


	2. Hormonal Italian

Desmond returned home from work that night in what was more literally the late hours of the morning. He wasn't sure what it was about Monday nights that got big burly men so angry, but he had worked the bar until well past closing time, listening to the complaints of bikers and gang members alike. He wished he could join in the conversations a couple of times, but what could he add? _My two foreign lovers left on a mission to assassinate a major world leader a few hours ago and now I'm at home alone with a guy I'm sure hates my guts? _

Yeah. Like that would end well.

Desmond's night had left him strung out and weary, and he wasn't sure that what he came home to made him feel worse or not.

The whole second floor smelled of incense, the very same that he had smelled before when he went parading through Jerusalem as Altair in the animus. Malik's incense. The familiar smell of it burned through his nostrils and reminded him of the bureau back in Jerusalem in the 1100's. He wasn't entirely sure if the memory was a good one or not, but it was triggered, and Desmond found himself following the smoky scent to the guest room.

He knocked at the door gently, and after a moment he couldn't tell if Malik had heard it or not over the soft sound of music coming from the inside of the room. Desmond had just turned away to go back to his own bedroom before he heard the door open, and the familiar voice of the former bureau leader. "What is it?" He asked bluntly, barely any tone in his voice besides annoyance.

Desmond spluttered when he turned to face the other man. "I was uh- I uh... I was just checking in. Seeing if everything was okay. I'm sorry, I always check in on everyone when I come home from work it's a habit I need to break, sorry if I woke you, just making sure that you're still you and not some Templar in disguise or anything-" Desmond cut himself off when he realized that he'd been rambling. "Sorry."

Malik couldn't help but laugh at Desmond's scrambled thought process. "Well, I appreciate the concern, but you do not have to worry, I am still myself." He nodded. "A good practice, this checking in business is. I bet that Altair doesn't bother with anything like that?"

Desmond could feel a light blush dust over his cheeks. "Altair and Ezio are usually in bed before I get home, so I can't really say anything about what he does..." He cast his eyes down to his feet. "We share a bed..."

The other man went silent, and Desmond was sure that the door would slam in his face, but when he looked up Malik was smirking. "Well, that is certainly interesting." He laughed, though it was a tad humorless. "I will have to take that up with Altair later on then..." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Thank you for checking in on me, Desmond, but I am quite alright where I am." He gestured toward his room where the heavy smoke of the incense shrouded most of his belongings. "I will not be loud in the morning, in case you are still asleep. Get some rest, now, Desmond. You look like you need it."

Malik nodded to him once, and Desmond nodded back with a little bit of a smile on his face, before both turned away. The quiet confirmation of Malik's closing door was all Desmond needed to return to the bedroom he shared with Ezio and Altair when they were home, to sleep off the long night at the bar and the awkward conversation with Malik after it.

When Desmond woke up, it was to the same smell of incense and an empty bed. He rolled over, groaning, putting his arm over his eyes when the sunlight hit him through the thin curtains in the bedroom that he usually shared with two other people. The bed that fit the three of them on any other night seemed like it was far too big now that it housed only one person. Desmond felt a shiver go up his spine. A whole week without the two of them there to keep him warm in bed...

After another moment or two of getting used to being awake with his arm over his eyes, Desmond managed to roll over again to check the clock. It was well past noon, and the notion of falling back asleep that he had before rolling over went away completely, replaced by a light weighted guilt. He should have been up earlier to check on Malik.

With a great sigh, Desmond heaved himself out of bed, wondering if he was actually getting fat like everyone teased him. He felt weighted down and heavier than usual, but quickly accounted it to stress. There was no way that he was getting fat. Nuh uh. Never.

The young assassin went about his normal routine in the safety of his own bedroom, stripping off the clothes that he had fallen asleep in and making his way into the adjacent bathroom. He flicked the water on and stood in the middle of the bathroom, waiting until the mirror was so steamed over that he couldn't see himself before stepping in.

The water burned but Desmond didn't mind. At least in there he couldn't smell the strong incense that Malik seemed to burn at all hours, clogging up the house with it's smoky scent. All Desmond could smell in the shower, however, was Ezio, with the vast number of hair products and body washes that the Italian had left behind, it smelled like he hadn't even left at all.

Desmond didn't really remember cleaning himself, but somehow, fifteen minutes later, he was out of the shower and getting dressed, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He pulled on a pair of casual jeans and a t-shirt before rubbing the dampness out of his hair with one of Ezio's towels.

He had no idea how much he missed the Italian until the man was gone.

Downstairs, Malik was sitting on the couch with the TV remote in his hand, flicking through channels absentmindedly. He didn't even look up when Desmond entered the room.

"You smell like hormonal Italian." The pleasant attitude toward Desmond that Malik had gathered the day before seemed to have disappeared overnight.

Desmond scrambled for a come back but only found an explanation. "I'm sorry that I wasn't awake to make breakfast or anything earlier. I had to stay late at the bar, as you know, and I accidentally just slept in... I wasn't paying attention either and used Ezio's hai-"

"I wasn't antagonizing you." Malik finally looked up at Desmond with an annoying smirk that the younger assassin often saw on Altair's face when he was playing the rare prank or making a joke.

The bastard.

"Alright, well... do you want anything to eat?" Desmond asking, looking at anywhere but his new housemate. He clasped his hands behind his back awkwardly, frowning at the floor.

"No," Malik replied simply, returning to watching the television when Desmond silently went into the kitchen.

Desmond sighed, passing his hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the fridge. It looked like this week was going to be long as hell.


	3. Un Idiota

Altair stretched his legs out and yawned, looking out the window and at the world below them. The plane ride to London was a long one, but he did not mind it so much now that he was sharing it with Ezio. He stretched the rest of his body with a quiet yawn, looking over to his companion only when he felt the joints in his shoulders pop.

Somehow, Ezio had stayed awake for the whole plane ride, entertaining himself with a novel about an Italian romance in which he had figured that he could woo the main woman in less than half of the pages that it took her lover to do. "Good morning, Altair." He joked, a lopsided grin on his face. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mm," Altair's smile widened ever so slightly in that pleased way it always did when he slept well. "I did..." He turned slightly, looking around them at the other passengers on the plane. "Where's De-"

Desmond.

The Syrian groaned, planting his head in his hands. They had left Desmond behind while they went on another mission. Again. This had happened so many times before now that Altair was beginning to think that Desmond must feel like they did it on purpose. Desmond was just as experienced as he or Ezio was and could take care of himself in plenty of situations that brought him close to death... why could they not break this habit of leaving him behind on every mission that they went on.

Ezio placed his hand on his lover's shoulder, sighing gently. "I know, I feel the same way..." He muttered, not having to ask to know what was going through Altair's mind. "He will come with us next time, but right now, we just have to worry about our job, not Desmond."

"I left him there with _Malik._" Altair groaned, shaking his head. "You don't understand, Ezio. _Malik. _He'll eat Desmond alive. Worse. He'll make Desmond eat _himself _alive."

Ezio sighed, keeping his hand on his partner's back. "You underestimate Desmond," He began, hoping to calm Altair down at least a little bit. "He has met Malik before, right?"

Altair nodded, though he still wasn't reassured that leaving Desmond home with Malik was the best idea ever. "You still don't quite grasp it, Ezio..." He looked up at the Italian through his hands. "You weren't there when Desmond met Malik."

_Three months prior, shortly after Desmond had started his work at the bar, and when his assassin assignments had thinned out greatly, Altair had been requested for a mission that required going to the bureau for research and whatever aid Malik could give. Since Desmond would end up being home alone again, and he had completed his work for that day, Altair brought him along. _

_Desmond had met Malik many times before, but that was in the animus, through the mind of Altair. He was expecting the brash, talented, strong willed bureau leader to be as he was in the past. Needless to say, he was sorely disappointed. _

_On their fist meeting, they were in the bureau, doing research on the mission that Altair had been given. Malik had been completely, brutally honest with his thoughts on Desmond. There was no detail left out, and what was worse, he didn't even speak to the bartender at all. He spoke to Altair as if Desmond was not even in the room, listening to the whole conversation and inputting little bits wherever he could get a handle of the conversation. _

"_You're telling me," Malik went on to Altair, continuing his break down of Desmond's general being. "That you're with this man, who sells alcohol to whores and gangsters, is barely trained, and can hardly hold himself upright without tripping over his own feet?" _

_Altair's response hadn't been very helpful to Desmond's cause, either. It was a simple. "Yes."_

"_You could have done better, Altair," Malik said, shaking his when he turned back to his work. "You could have done better."_

Ezio, forever the romantic of the three of them, stared at Altair with disbelief written across his face. When the only response he got was Altair's questioning glance, he shook his head. "You," He lowered his voice so that only Altair could hear him. "Grand master assassin, protector of our people, and holder of the Apple, are un idiota."

It's short, and I apologize for that, but I want to thank all of you for taking the time to read it, because so far this has gotten a way better response than I thought and hoped it would. Thank you, everyone. 3


	4. The Bar, the Fight, the Cheerios

**A/N: I'm sorry that this one took longer than the others, but I've been sick and I've just gotten back to school, so I apologize if this isn't as good as you were expecting. I tried to make it longer and... well... better, but I'm sorry if it's not. Thank you, everyone, for reading! - Mae**

Desmond wanted to dive into the freezing pool by the time he got home from his daily run, since this time, his daily run felt more like a daily sprint. For some reason, in the back of his head, he felt like Malik was timing him, though he knew it couldn't be true. Malik wasn't _that _much of a tyrant, was he?

"Congratulations." Malik greeted Desmond in the living room when the younger man walked in, sweating terribly and breathing hard. Malik sat on the couch, ankle crossed over his knee, looking at the stopwatch that he held in his hand. "I think you've actually broken a record, Desmond."

Desmond wanted to groan, but this time, this actually sounded... pleasant. "Have I?" He asked, leaning back against the cool metal door.

"Indeed," Malik nodded, smiling up at Desmond. "I think I've finally found someone that runs slower than Altair."

The younger man groaned, pushing himself away from the door. He knew for a _fact _that he ran faster than Altair. They'd raced. He'd won. Multiple times. Desmond shook his head, gesturing away like it didn't matter, when it did. More than Malik thought so. "Whatever," He grunted, going up the stairs to the second floor so he could take a shower. "I'm taking a shower."

Malik smirked, waiting until he heard Desmond enter his bedroom before he let the smirk go with a defeated sigh. He glanced back down at his stop watch. Desmond had outrun Altair by plenty of time, possibly even a full minute, and he hadn't even known that Malik was timing him. Desmond was just too innocent, it was fun to mess with him. Besides, Malik felt the need to push him further, make him train harder than he ever had before.

It would all be worth it, once Desmond became a man that was worth Altair's time.

Malik had nothing against the younger assassin, in truth, he thought he was incredibly talented, given the circumstances of his training. He'd had no _real _tutor, only the training sessions in that strange machine he and his friends called the _animus. _That was _before _the thing blew up and rocketed Malik, Ezio, and Altair into the future. It was the fact that Desmond reminded Malik so much of Altair that he pushed him further, wanted to make him stronger and more agile. He wanted to help him become a better assassin.

He'd just... keep from letting anyone know that his methods were... less than conventional.

_I should give him a break... _Malik thought to himself as he barely watched the television in front of him. _He misses Altair and Ezio terribly... _

"I'm headed to work." Desmond stated around five hours later, doing up the black button down that was his uniform shirt as he walked down the steps. "Do you need anything? I'll stop by the store on my way home." He glanced down at Malik, who sat on the couch with a book, this time, instead of the remote.

"I think I will be fine." Malik stated, not even looking up at Desmond. "Besides, you come home far too late for me to need anything at that time." He glanced up at Desmond, finally, but his gaze was condescending. "Think before you ask questions, Desmond."

The younger assassin groaned, shaking his head slightly. He took his keys and jacket from the hook on the wall, shrugging on the latter as he walked out the door with a half-hearted wave in Malik's direction.

When Desmond got to work, he noticed right away that something was wrong. It could have been his heightened assassin senses, or perhaps it was just the large group of drunk bikers that seemed to be grumbling angrily toward a certain corner of the bar. True enough, an unfamiliar, smaller, frightened looking man sat in the very same corner, speaking with someone who Desmond knew to be a sort of monarch amongst the bikers. There was probably some sort of illegal deal going on, but Desmond couldn't be bothered to call the cops. It looked to him like the other bartenders working that night couldn't be bothered either.

"What's going on?" He asked one of his co-workers, nodding over to the two in the corner.

The woman scoffed and shrugged. "From what I gather," She answered in a quieter voice. "Long, tan, and handsome over there owes the gang something, not sure what it is, but he can't pay up..." Right as she finished her sentence, three other men walked into the bar. Desmond recognized all three of them.

The grumbling gang of bikers all looked up in unison at the three newcomers. Their moods seemed to drop ten times lower at the sight of the three men who Desmond knew they did not like. Things just kept getting worse and worse in the bar, and suddenly, it seemed less than safe for the workers, and the man in the corner. Desmond checked the back of his pants. Yup. He'd remembered to put the belt with his throwing knives on.

"What'll it be, boys?" His female co-worker asked the three as the saddled up to the bar, the two on the side giving the one in the middle a nod.

"The usual." He shrugged, giving the woman a half-hearted smile.

She glanced over at Desmond, who nodded. He was better at remembering 'usual' orders than any of the other bartenders, so he quickly mixed up whatever it was the men drank and put it in front of them.

After a moment of contemplation – where Desmond had moved away from the three of them – the men glared up at their bartender. "Ehi, stronzo!" The middle man called out, causing Desmond to internally curse himself. Why did Italian men just follow him _everywhere? _

"Che cosa è?" Desmond asked, turning to the men and using the little bit of Italian he knew from inside the animus and from what Ezio had taught him. "Qualcosa non va?"

It was obvious that Desmond had made a mistake when he was judging the three men that had walked into the bar. They were all startled by the Italian that came off of Desmond's lips and took a moment to respond before the man in the middle spat out at him. "These ain't our usual drinks."

Desmond frowned, his brow knitting together. He could have sworn he saw their faces before- no. It wasn't them. These guys were part of the day crowd that Desmond never got to see because he never worked that shift.

"Aw man," He smiled at them apologetically. "Those are on me, guys, just tell me what you want and I'll get it for you, sorry about that, I mistook you guys for someone else-"

Just as Desmond was stepping back to get the guys what they_ really _ordered, the man in the middle lurched forward, grabbing Desmond by the collar of his shirt and wrenching him forward. "You don't know who I am?" He asked, his lip curling up in a sneer and his breath already tinged with the smell of alcohol. "I am James Machiavelli, and I _do not _like being forgotten."

Try as he might, he couldn't hold it in, and Desmond ended up laughing in the tough Italian's face. Machiavelli. He knew that name. He knew that _person, _from a couple hundred years prior, but he still knew him.

The already enraged man's face flared into a deeper shade of red as he drew back his fist, glaring hard at Desmond before landing his fist in the younger man's face. Desmond staggered back from the force of the hit. He fell to his knees, dazed, after wobbling around for a moment or two. "You laugh at me, punk?" He asked, glaring over the bar at the fallen bartender. "You can't even get up on your feet from a punch like that, and _you _laugh at _me?_"

Desmond wrenched himself to his feet, glaring at the man and wiping the blood off of his upper lip with the back of his hand. "Just laughin' at a coincidence." Desmond muttered before drawing his fist back in response and swinging forward, landing his knuckles between the eyes of the Machiavelli man that he should be friends with instead of fighting.

The female bartender, who Desmond could never remember the name of, put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from the bar and glaring at him. "No matter what, Desmond, we don't hit the customers here."

"He hit me first." Desmond shrugged, acting like it didn't matter. It really didn't, not in his book. He still made a little bit of money off the assassin movement, and combined with Altair and Ezio they made enough to maintain the house, their gear, and themselves. That's all he needed. Besides, the Auditore family, thanks to Ezio, practically owned half of New York City after renovating half of the buildings and creating businesses to go in them.

The woman sighed, shaking her head. "That doesn't matter. Workers at a functioning business do not hit their customers, no matter who hit first..." She closed her eyes tight. "Just... go home Desmond. Take the night off. Sorry you had to come all the way out here for such a short time..."

Desmond sighed, noddding. He knew he'd done something wrong but it felt so right to just whop the guy in the face, even though their families were technically allies, as far as he knew. "Alright." He muttered, untying the apron behind his back and hanging it up in the staff room. "I'll see you tomorrow night," He waved back at her. "Hopefully."

Malik was practically MIA when Desmond came home, that was, until he found the man in the place where he was least expected, sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of what Desmond figured were Cheerios. The bartender scoffed, going to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. "Didn't think you ate, Malik." he smiled over at the man.

"I didn't think you would be home from work so early," Malik sat back, looking up at Desmond with a smirk on his face. "Get fired already, Desmond?" He asked, though his smirk turned into a frown quickly when he noticed the state of swelling that the younger man's lip was in. "What happened...?" He asked, almost tentatively.

"Got punched." Desmond shrugged. "Punched back."

"And you did not get fired?"

"Not that I know of." Desmond took a swig of the water he held in his hand. "It's not that big of a deal anyway..." He muttered before walking away to tend to his bruised lip.

Malik shook his head, sighing when Desmond was out of ear-shot. Not that big of a deal. Sure. Whatever the boy wanted to think.

_Perhaps, _Malik thought, through a spoonful of Cheerios. _That he is not worth Altair's time, after all._


	5. Leonardo and the Pushups

**I'm sorry this took so long and that it sucks so bad, guys. I really mean it. This isn't the best of my work and it makes me a little bit sad. I kinda made an excuse to put Leonardo in it too. Sorry, everyone, and thank you for all of the reviews and appreciation I've gotten. It motivates me more, even though, at this point, I have no idea where I'm going with this now. **

**Thank you, everyone!**

* * *

><p>"I feel like I should call Desmond." Out of the silence, Altair could hear the deep voice of his Italian lover, worried as ever about the man that they had left at home. Discussing the idea of calling the man that they had left behind, however, seemed to Altair like it should be the last thing that was on Ezio's mind, given their current circumstances. "It feels like something has happened to him. I am worried."<p>

Altair heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "Do you very well think that this is the best time to discuss something like this, Ezio?" He asked, looking back at the Italian through the darkness.

It was not the best time. Not at all. The two assassins sat in the dark, in what was silence, until Ezio broke it, hiding in the attic of the target that they were watching. The two of them observed as he ate dinner alone, almost pathetically, without the company of even his maids. From the grate in the ceiling, they watched the man eat silently, not looking up at the empty room in front of him. "This is a perfect chance, then, Altair." The master assassin could barely hear his partner speak, however, through the focus that he had already turned to their target.

The Syrian man nodded, and, without a word, pulled the grate open and moved it to the side, hoping to not alarm the man below them. He slid his arm through the opening, – aiming – before pulling his sleeve up to reveal the firearm that was hidden below his suit. With the help of their inventor friend, Altair had managed to silence the shot of the hidden gun slightly, enough so that it would not alarm any nearby neighbors. Altair recalculated his aim carefully, making sure that, when he finally did pull the trigger, the bullet would land itself safely in the back of his target's head.

Ezio surged to move forward, through the gate, when the shot was made. He was held back, however, by his partner's hand and a sharp glare in the little bit of light pooling in from below. "Not yet," The Syian muttered, his hand on his lover's shoulder. "Wait a moment, Ezio..."

When it appeared that no one would interrupt, Altair let go of Ezio's shoulder, letting the man shimmy through the opening and land on his feet. Altair followed after him and watched as the Italian ignored the target completely and head straight to the phone that sat in it's palce on the wall and dial a familiar number.

Ezio hummed as he heard the phone ring once, twice, then three times before a familiar voice filled his head. "Hello?" The tone was questioning, confused. Ezio could heard the frown in his friend's voice. "Who is this?"

"Leonardo!" Ezio sighed in relief when he heard his friend's voice. "It is Ezio, I need you to do me a favor."

"Always a favor with you, Ezio." Leonardo sighed. "Between the Codex pages and your weapons and everything else, why can't you ever just call to say hello? You do know I like hearing from you sometimes, right?" Ezio could tell his frown had turned into a pout. "Where are you, anyway?"

"London." Ezio answered quickly, trying to avoid the awkward conversation while he was out on a mission. "I will come visit when we get back, but I am on a job and I need you to check up on Desmond for me." He took a breath, continuing to explain before Leonardo could interrupt him. "Altair left him alone with that Malik character-"

"Hey!" Altair objected from his place hovering over the corpse of their victim. "Malik is not a 'character' Ezio. He is a good friend and very trustworthy."

Ezio rolled his eyes, turning back to his conversation on the phone. "In any case, Malik and Desmond do not get along very well, and I feel like something has happened to him. Could you _please _check up on him for me, Leonardo? I am starting to feel irrationally worried, and when that happens, I do not do my best work."

Leonardo sighed over the phone, and there was a pause before he spoke next. "Alright, I'll do it." He muttered. "But if nothing is wrong with Desmond I am going to be very unhappy with you, Ezio Auditore."

"And your unhappiness with me will be taken and I promise that I will never ask anything of you again, unless it is incredibly important." Ezio replied, a smile on his face. He knew that Leonardo would never be able to be unhappy with him for long periods of time. "I promise."

"Yes, well, I'll hold you to that." Leonardo grumbled. "Now get back to work, I am sure that Altair is not pleased with you, either."

Desmond had one hand behind his back, the other flat on the floor, pushing himself up in a series of terribly embarrassing pushups that he had received as punishment for getting 'beaten up' by a stranger in a bar. Malik was a hardass, sometimes, he knew, but this? He didn't expect this.

_When he had gotten out of the bathroom, changed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and sat down on the couch with a remote in his hand, Malik had stood in front of the TV with a smirk on his face and a command on his lips. "Down. On the floor." Not a question, a demand, and Desmond had no choice but to follow it. "Someone as weak as you are is a waste of Altair's time. You need a workout. Now."_

So there he was, on his fourth set of push-ups, sweat starting to break out on his forehead, arm straining under him. Maybe he was getting out of shape. At least this would help him, or so he thought. Desmond was just starting his fifth set and had changed his arms when the doorbell rang. "Oh thank God..." He muttered, pushing himself up one last time so he could stand and answer the door.

"I don't think so," Malik said, shaking his head as he went to answer the door. "You stay put." Desmond's answering groan made him smirk. Upon opening the door, Malik's smirk turned into a frown. A familiar blond headed painter was there waiting for him, happy as always.

"Hello, Malik." Leonardo greeted, a smile on his face. "May I come in?"

Malik stepped to the side, allowing Leonardo in. "What brings you here, Leonardo?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and shutting the door after the painter. "I would think you were busy in your workshop."

"Ezio called me." Leonardo stated, turning to smile at Malik. "He said that he had a bad feeling and asked me to check up on everything, I guess he was wrong." He shrugged, a hint of a frown on his face. "Unless there's something that I should know?"

The conversation got no further, interrupted by a thump and a gasp when Desmond collapsed to the ground, panting. "Hi, Leonardo." He smiled up at the painter from his place on the floor. "Everything is fine around here, I wouldn't imagine why Ezio would worry."

Leonardo shrugged, raising an eyebrow at the split in Desmond's upper lip. "Perhaps that is why?" He asked, pointing to it. "What happened, Desmond?"

Desmond stood, shrugging his shoulders. He wiped the sweat off of his brow and gave Leonardo the best smile he could without stretching his lip too far. "Got into a bar fight." He shrugged. It sounded far cooler than it actually was. He chuckled once. "With a man named Machiavelli, at that."

Leonardo's eyes widened, as if in hopes that he wasn't the only one of Ezio's companions who drifted forward with the errors of the animus. "Was his name Niccolo?"

"I'm afraid it wasn't..." Desmond shook his head sadly. "Looks like you and Ezio were the only two that came from your time..." He smiled apologetically at his friend. "I'm sorry, Leonardo..."

Leonardo shrugged off the frown that he felt like making. He hadn't known Niccolo that well, and wasn't sure why he had been so excited. "In any case, how did you get into a bar fight? Was it at work?" He raised a blond eyebrow. "How did you manage to get into a fight at the bar that you work at?"

From the other side of the room, Malik snorted. Desmond would have forgotten all about him had he not made a sound. "That is because he is weak," Malik started, making Desmond groan and roll his eyes. "He doesn't know how to defend himself properly."

When Leonardo couldn't help but laugh, Desmond groaned, dropping back to the floor and resuming the push ups that Malik had set him to earlier.


	6. That Awkward Moment When

It was time, Malik thought, that he let Desmond know exactly why he was being such a 'hard-ass' as the younger man would so frequently put it. The comments made under his breath and the glares sent Malik's way were starting to become a little overwhelming. He had thought a week with Desmond would be like another week training a novice, but he had been proven bitterly, bitterly wrong. Desmond was not the novice assassin that Malik had thought him to be. He was a trained and capable young man, despite his bad habits of getting hurt in the work place.

If only Malik would let himself admit to that.

Desmond was currently upstairs, Malik could hear him blasting music from the room he shared with Altair and Ezio. Malik wondered how Desmond could stand the noise, then remembered that he had grown up in a different time when music came out loud and angry, unlike when Malik was younger. _I should teach him what good music is... _The thought had passed through the bureau leader's head many times already throughout the week. Especially after Leonardo had paid a visit and Desmond had taken to sheltering himself inside of his room to avoid Malik's scrutiny.

He's not that bad of a kid... Malik had reminded himself of this multiple times already. Far better than the novices in Syria, and far better than Altair had been when we were younger.. He thought back fondly to the times when he and Altair had been good friends, tormenting the girls in the village and the older Assassins when they arrived back from their missions. The whole Tower would be in an uproar at some of their antics, but neither of them ever got in trouble.

It was a shame that Desmond never got to live that life. Sometimes, Malik wondered what he and Altair would be like if they had grown up in this time, instead of Desmond. If the tables were turned and Desmond was Altair's great ancestor.

We'd probably be little assholes. Malik thought fondly, stretching across the couch in the living room. He had taken to spending his time there rather than in the confines of his bedroom. It was far too loud on the second floor, and at least there, in the living room, the sound of the screaming from Desmond's room was at least slightly muffled.

When the phone rang, Malik was more or less surprised. He waited for a moment, not sure if Desmond could hear the phone in his room over the noise that seemed to never end. Hesitantly, wondering if it was perhaps Desmond's work or a friend, Malik reached out, picking up the ringing annoyance from the receiver and putting it to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked, voice so low that he could barely hear himself over Desmond's music.

"Malik," Altair's calm tone soothed the frazzled nerve that Malik had barely registered as frazzled. "How are things going at home?"

Malik instinctively glanced at the ceiling, as though he could see through the flooring and sighed quietly when he heard Desmond pacing around. It took him a moment to realize that Altair wouldn't be able to see his movement. A part of him was still adjusting to the use of telephones. "I would say they are not as bad as they could be,"

"But they are not better, either." Altair's voice went flat, and Malik could practically see the frown on his friend's face.

"They are not the best of times for Desmond, Altair." Malik responded, crossing his legs at the ankle. "Though I could ask you the same question. How is the job going? Why have both of you suddenly gotten time to call home so often?"

There was a pause before Altair spoke again. "I take it Leonardo visited, then?" He asked, his tone inquisitive. "What did he say?"

Malik shrugged, once again forgetting that Altair couldn't see him. "Just that Ezio had called him to 'check up' on everything. I don't understand why. What does that Italian bastard have against me?"

There was a chuckle from somewhere in the room that Altair was in. Malik could hear it over the phone, along with the faint buzzing of air passing through. Altair had him on 'speaker'. Of course. That was just like Altair.

The aforementioned Assassin could not do anything to hide the chuckle in his voice as he spoke. "He just thinks that you are too stiff, Malik." He replied, an amused tone to his voice.

Malik breathed out a sigh, shifting his weight on the couch so he could sit up, then stand. "And you are not?" He asked, slightly angry that he had been put on speaker so both of them could hear. "In any case, what was the reason that you called?" He asked, breaking the dead silence that followed his comment.

The master Assassin huffed a sigh before he continued. "Ezio was badgering me to call and see how Desmond was doing, and I was wondering how you were holding up there. He can't be too pleasant to live with right about now, can he?"

"Like I said, it is not at it's worst." Malik muttered, already taking the stairs up to the second floor. "He has taken to terrible music, though I guess you already knew his bad tastes." He stopped in front of Desmond's bedroom door. "I suspect that you wish to speak with him?"

"Please!" Ezio called from the background, and the cry was accompanied by footsteps that grew louder and louder as their owner grew closer.

Malik rested the phone between his ear and shoulder, reaching up with his newly freed hand to knock loudly at the door, hoping that Desmond could hear his knock over the noise. After a moment or two of no response – and Ezio breathing down the phone – Malik opened the door, received a yelp and a pillow to the face, then turned around and shut it again.

An awkward silence, in which not even Ezio's breathing could be heard, washed over the three of them.

"What was that?" Altair asked after a moment, breaking the silence with his inquisitive tone.

Malik had to cough to force himself to get the words out. "Nothing, Desmond is busy, I'll tell him to call you back later. Goodbye."

Without a second thought, Malik pressed the end conversation button on the phone, hurriedly walked downstairs, and put the phone back on the port. He stood there, staring at it for a moment, trying to erase the memory of something he was sure Altair and Ezio were only allowed to see.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So there's a little part of me that knows you guys know what that little mishap between Malik and Desmond was, but the rest of me feels the need to clear it up in a side fic. I just didn't want the rating of this to bump up to M or T because of some tiny little blip in the story. Yea or Nea for a side fic of some awkward Desmond solo action? **


	7. Just Saying

**A/N: So, this took me a long time to write mostly because I didn't want to finish writing it. I'm not too proud of it, as an ending chapter, but I hope it will suffice for you all. I'm going to end up continuing with this whole AC thing I have going on, though, so if anyone's interested I'm probably going to put up a fic of whole everyone came to modern times. Thank you all for reading and responding, I greatly appreciate it! - M**

* * *

><p>Desmond had been practically praying for this day for a whole week. Altair and Ezio were finally scheduled to come home that day, and if they weren't back, Desmond had an arsenal of blades and bullets ready and waiting for them when they did. He was glad to finally be ridding himself of the smoky smell of Malik's incense and the underhanded remarks that he could barely scramble a come-back to. He was done with Malik and – hopefully – wouldn't be seeing him until, perhaps, next Christmas.<p>

That is, if Altair and Ezio held to their word.

The morning had started off terribly, however, and everything inside of Desmond's mind told him that things were going to go wrong.

Earlier that morning he had gotten a call from work, and it was 'with regret and one less pay check to write' that they fired him. Desmond could understand that, but the lecture – accompanied by the laughter – from Malik that really did him in. Desmond had retreated to his room shortly after that, changed into his running clothes, and without a word to Malik left the house to go running.

Unfortunately for him, the sky opened up not five minutes into his run.

With a heavy heart – and heavy, rain-soaked clothes – Desmond returned home, and trudged back up to his room, ignoring the sounds Malik was trying to hold back while he watched the sad display of defeat.

The day had started off terrible, and it would end terrible. Desmond was sure of it. Nothing ever went right for him. Especially when it was concerning Altair and Ezio.

They would come home two weeks later, beaten and bruised beyond recognition, and probably barely remember Desmond through it all. He was sure of it. That's just how it went with the two of them.

It didn't help, though, when there was a knock on Desmond's door just when he was flopping back down in bed. His hopes soared, and he launched himself off of the bed and to his bedroom door, hoping to God that it was Altair standing there. Needless to say, he was incredibly let down when it was just Malik, though his expression was something Desmond had never seen on the man before.

"Can I talk to you?" Malik asked, leaning his left shoulder against the door frame. "I believe I've got some things to clear up before I leave tonight."

Desmond didn't want to know why Malik thought he would be leaving so early, but he stepped aside, letting the bureau leader into his room. He didn't bother shutting the door, instead just going back to the bed and deftly hopping up onto it, landing cross-legged in the middle.

Malik sat down on the edge of the bed, obviously uncomfortable with himself and everything that he was about to say to Desmond. There was a silence before he spoke, in which Desmond could tell that he was trying his best to collect his thoughts, however awkward they may be. "I know that I have been incredibly hard on you in the past week – but there is plenty of reason behind it!" He added hurriedly when Desmond went to interrupt.

"You see," Malik continued after a moment. "When Altair and I were young, back in Masyaf, we were the best of friends. And even after... everything, he and I were close. He was like a brother to Kadar and I. Until the... until he got Kadar killed."

"I know." Desmond reminded him, when the expression on Malik's face looked like he wanted to die, or have his arm ripped off all over again. Reliving the death of your brother is, perhaps, the hardest thing that anyone could do, and Desmond had no idea how to console him. "You don't have to go into that, I know. Remember?"

Malik nodded, straightening himself up upon the realization that Desmond had lived most of Altair's life, and had known exactly what happened to Kadar and Malik. "In any case, I just have the urge to protect the idiot. He is all I have left now, besides what is left of the bureau. Just know, Desmond," He frowned, standing up, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. Before he got to the door, however, Malik turned back to him. "I'm only 'hard on you' because I want you to be what is right for him."

Desmond stared through the open doorway when Malik had gone. He couldn't believe it. Malik was hard on him because he was _jealous _of him. When he was sure that Malik was out of ear shot, Desmond jumped up, closed the door, and laughed.

That was, until the phone rang.

Desmond jumped into action, leaping across the room in one bound and landing on his bed hard. "Hello?" He asked, panting, when the phone was suddenly at his ear.

"Desmond!" The cheerful voice of his Italian lover rang through the young assassin's head and he almost melted on the spot. "You know, mio amore, every time I hear your laugh, it makes me smile. It is so pleasant and light, but laughing at the expense of others is not very nice of you, Desmond."

Instantly, Desmond went into assassin mode. There was no way that Ezio was home yet, and even if he was, how could he have heard Desmond laughing at Malik? "Since when did you get all honest and good, Ezio?" Desmond asked, looking over his shoulder to try and find the Italian. "Weren't you the one laughing when we pulled Altair into the pool that one time?"

A nervous cough. It wasn't over the phone, but Desmond could hear it clearly, somewhere behind him. "Well," Ezio began as Desmond turned, facing the wall that led to the adjacent bathroom. "You see, that was completely different."

"How?" Desmond asked, walking toward the door quietly, footsteps light as ever on the carpeted floor. "You were laughing at the expense of others. Altair can't swim and you took advantage of that." While he spoke, he reached his hand out, grasping the door handle and turning it slowly, silently to the right. "I'd say that wasn't very nice of you either Ezi- Altair?"

The man who Desmond had expected to open the door to was not there. Instead, Altair stood leaning against the bathroom sink, smirking widely. "Hello, Desmond." He greeted, his smirk morphing into a grin.

"Where's-?"

"I am right here, mio amore." From behind himself, Desmond could clearly hear the Italian's voice, an audible smirk on his lips as well.

Stuck between the two people he wanted to see the most, Desmond had no idea what to do. He hadn't expected them to be home so early, let alone play a trick like this on him. His arms fell to his sides and the phone slipped from his hands, clattering to the bathroom floor.

Without warning, Desmond launched himself forward at Altair, his arms finding their way around the older man's neck and his own scarred lips finding their way to his lover's.

Altair responded in full, wrapping both arms around his younger lover and kissing him back just as passionately, if not more so. He pulled away only when he noticed Ezio turning away from the two.

"Go to him," Altair whispered against Desmond's lips. "He has missed you terribly."

With a nod, Desmond detached himself from Altair, moving to Ezio and wrapping his arms around the Italian from behind. "Ezio...?" He mumbled against the back of his lover's shirt. "I missed you. So much..."

Ezio turned in Desmond's arms, finally facing his young lover. "I missed you too, Desmond..." He muttered, putting a hand on the top of Desmond's head, smoothing down his hair. "More than you know..." The Italian placed two fingers under Desmond's chin, bringing him up for a light kiss. "Perhaps we should get to remedying our distance by being as close as possible..." When he spoke, Ezio drew Desmond closer, pulling him against himself with a smirk.

Desmond shook his head, however promising the suggestion was. "I can't..." He smiled up at Ezio. "You two get settled in, I have something to say to Malik..."

The youngest Assassin stepped away, leaving Ezio's lip tugged out in a small pout, and turned toward the door. He smiled at the two of them before exiting the room and going down the hall to the guest bedroom. There, the soft sounds of Malik's music, and the smell of the smoky incense – forever burned into the walls, the carpet, and Desmond's nostrils – greeted him like an old friend.

Desmond was just about to reach up and knock at the door when the room's inhabitant yanked it open, staring down at him expectantly. "I could hear you down the hallway," Malik dismissed the shocked expression on Desmond's face. "Do not be so surprised when your feet fall harder than rocks."

"Whatever the case," Desmond stated, rolling his eyes. "I just wanted to say... thank you, Malik."

The bureau leader smiled a knowing smile – one that Desmond had never seen before – and placed a hand on the young assassin's shoulder. "You don't have to thank me, Desmond, I know." He nodded his head as though he was finally giving up in his battle of wits. "I know."


End file.
